


When Spike Knew

by violettathepiratequeen



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, POV Spike (BtVS), Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Spuffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violettathepiratequeen/pseuds/violettathepiratequeen
Summary: When Spike told Buffy "I love you" as he kissed her in his dream, it didn't just come flying out of nowhere. He'd realized it a while before that.A series of milestones in Seasons 4 and 5 that we really never got to see the conclusion of, but which seemed to lay the groundwork for their relationship. Companion piece (sorta) to "When Buffy Knew."
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike turns to Buffy for help when he gets chipped. Set during "Pangs."

It was getting bad.

Spike was slouching against the wall of an alley, clutching his blanket around him, peering hatefully out into the sun that was still a couple hours away from setting. He was taking ragged breaths just to distract himself from the pain in his head and his stomach, but all that was doing was making him more keenly aware of every human in the vicinity. And all their lovely, tantalizing blood, that he no longer had access to.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall. He was running out of options. Everyone had abandoned him; Harmony, who had been filling her head with some nonsense she’d read somewhere, Drusilla, who had dumped him long before any of this started, and he was sure there had been enough demons who had caught sight up him stumbling around miserably to destroy any reputation he still might have carried in this miserable town.

_Go to her. She’ll help you, she won’t turn you away, she’ll respect the white flag if you raise it…_

“No,” he said firmly, through gritted teeth. The thought had been plaguing him for days, and every time it reared its head again, he had to shut it down. He couldn’t go to her. He would not let himself be seen like this, not in front of _her_.

“Hey, man, you can’t be here!”

Spike’s eyes shot open and he stared at a disheveled-looking young man who was heading towards the dumpster in the alley. Spike gave him a glare and just muttered, “Shove off.”

“Dude, seriously, they don’t like people loitering behind my building, and I’m not afraid to call the cops, so—”

Spike snarled, and let his fangs out before he could think about it. He lunged at the man, and immediately dropped to the ground howled as a surge of pain ran through his head. But the vampire face had done enough, and the man shrieked, dropped his garbage bag and ran, and Spike stumbled to his feet again.

 _Fine_ , so he’d look for the Slayer. So he’d crawl to her doorstep and grovel at her feet. Wasn’t like she had any particular fear or respect for him anyway, no, because she was still grieving for Captain Fauxhawk, and probably didn’t even remember Spike if he wasn’t in the same room as her.

He didn’t recognize the flat he ended up in front of but that didn’t matter. She was definitely in there, she and several of her little friends. One of them must live here. He stumbled to the door, but hesitated before knocking.

_She’s there, she’s right there, and you know she’ll help you, like she always does when you ask._

But this, all of this, still felt so wrong, and he waited so long that his flesh started to sizzle, and his stomach began loudly growling, and the pain in his head was growing so intense, and he could feel tears streaming down his eyes from all the dizziness and confusion and sun and…

He knocked. She opened the door, and when she stepped out he lurched at her, grabbing her arm. “Help me…” was all he could manage, before he felt her strong hands shoving him backwards out into the sun.

Well, that wasn’t how things were supposed to go at all. “What part of ‘help me’ do you not understand?” he snapped, though he was aware the rage surging through him was filtered slightly by the fact that he could barely even stand.

“The part where I help you,” Buffy said evenly.

He really hadn’t though this far ahead, how he’d actually get her to help him. After laying out his problems, the only other thing he could think of was to start wildly blabbing about the soldiers that had done this to him. He was sure they’d prick up their ears at the thought of getting information, even though he had virtually none to offer.

But they didn’t need to know that. “Come on,” he said, looking at Buffy with the best imitation of Angel puppy eyes he could manage. “What have you got to be afraid of?”

She held his gaze for a long time. Finally, she rolled her eyes, and he detected a little bit of a smirk on her face as she turned to her Watcher. “Okay,” she said. “Let him in.”

“What?” Giles demanded. “Buffy, even if he’s safe now—and really we can’t be sure—I don’t care for the idea of him just being able to…to…”

“So we disinvite him,” Buffy said calmly. “Giles, this is our first lead on the commandos. Even if it’s small, and even if he’ll probably lie about a lot of it…” she turned her gaze back on Spike, and Spike would have scorned the look of pity she was giving him if he’d had the energy. “Just let him in,” she said quietly.

Giles gave a long-suffering sigh, and said, “You’d better know something useful. Come in, Spike.”

He almost fell through the doorway, and immediately felt much better. He stood up straight, dropped his blanket and duster on the ground unceremoniously, and smirked at all the faces that were turned towards him.

And then of course the Slayer grabbed him by his collar and tossed him into a chair to tie him up.

It was still better than being scolded in a back alley by some random mortal, Spike decided. The being tied to a chair. The useless bickering of the Scoobies. The random Indian siege. It certainly distracted him from the hunger, which was good because, by the time the sun had gone down, no one had made any moves to feed him.

They were all sitting down for _their_ dinner, when Buffy suddenly looked over at Spike’s chair, which had been pushed up against the sofa. He glared at her. “Well, hurry up with your gorgeous feast, Slayer, it’s not really like I can get much hungrier.”

“Buffy?” Willow asked. “You coming?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Buffy said to no one in particular.

“Yep,” Xander said. “Hence the piles of carbohydrates we are about to infuse into our bodies.”

Buffy walked over to Spike, and huffed at him. “I can’t believe you had to crash my holiday, you jerk,” she said, and then she began dragging his chair over to the table.

“Hey!” Spike said. “You can’t just—” he stopped when she pushed him in next to Willow, before she slid into a seat at one end of the table, on his other side.

“Be quiet,” Buffy said sharply. “I’ll find you something after we’re done.”

Spike looked at her and opened his mouth, but the retort died on his tongue. And he couldn’t come up with any others after that. What was there to say, anyway? The conversation around the table was light, and brief, as everyone began attacking their plates. Spike kept his head down, but his gaze lingered on the Slayer.

She baffled him. That was all there was to it. She baffled him, and even though he’d come, knowing she’d help him, he didn’t understand why she would. And he didn’t understand why she hadn’t just left him in a corner, like a caged animal. Why she’d brought him to the table, to not be alone, even if he was tied up and not partaking.

She was different, this Slayer. If he made one move out of line, even right now, he’d be dust before he could even figure out how to get untied. And yet here he was. Part of her Thanksgiving. Taken in to a home he’d had no business turning to.

He almost forgot his hunger as he watched her.

But he remembered it again very keenly as the meal ended, and her friends dispersed. He’d been lashing out as many snide comments as he could, to cover up how hungry and desperate he was, but they were all failing him now, and he could only sit there with black spots swimming before his eyes, and pray the Slayer remembered him.

He had to wait until she and her Watcher had finished cleaning everything up, and he finally saw her march towards him with a mug. It had a straw in it, and she slammed it on the table in front of him, sitting on the edge of the table next to it and crossing her arms.

Spike could only barely raise his eyes towards her before he pushed himself forward and took the straw between his lips. He made a face at the first sip. “Gravy,” he said bitterly, but he only did it for show. He began sucking away at it with all the strength he had left.

“I told you that’s what you’d get,” Buffy said, without looking at him. “We don’t exactly keep blood on hand.”

“Bet you did for—”

“I’ll get you some tomorrow,” Buffy interrupted. “Or—someone will. I’m going to LA.” She snapped her mouth shut, as if she hadn’t meant to say that.

Spike stopped drinking for a moment, and glanced back up at her. “You gonna drop in on him, then?” he asked casually.

“I’m not discussing this with you,” Buffy said stiffly.

“Just a fly-by or will you actually take the time to say hello?”

“Spike, if you think I won’t stake you right now…” She pursed her lips and glared at him. “Hurry up and drink your gravy. I don’t have all night.”

Spike took his time, but eventually he said, “You know this doesn’t actually have blood in it, right?” 

Buffy watched him for a moment, and asked, “Can you really not bite people anymore?”

He tried to scowl, but that took almost more effort than it was worth. “You think I’d be here if I could?” The gnawing in his stomach was slightly satiated by the gravy, bloodless though it might have been. But exhaustion was now beginning to dominate, and he didn’t know how much longer he could put up a front.

“Why did you come?” she asked. “To me? Why did you think I—”

“You were a last resort, believe me. I had…I had no one else.” Had he really just said that? It was getting hard to separate his thoughts from his spoken words. “And I wasn’t wrong, was I? Why’d you let me in?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” she said casually.

“Ah, and you’re feeling the spirit of the holidays because you couldn’t spend today with your mum? What happened, did she kick you out? Thought that home was the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” The realization of that quote caught up with him too late, and he looked up in horror at her.

The horror was matched on her face as her eyes scanned over him. But she shook it off, and straightened up off the table. “She didn’t kick me out. She’s out of town.” She pursed her lips, watching him slurp the last bits of gravy from the bottom of the mug. “And speaking of…I have to catch the early bus tomorrow, so Giles asked me to chain you up somewhere until I get back.”

Spike felt like he should protest, but he just gave a sort of snort and said, “Did he now.”

She shrugged. “Sorry. His house, his rules.”

Honestly, he was going to crash right there in front of her if she didn’t get him situated soon, so the smoother he went along with it, the faster it’d be over. He let her untie his ropes, and walk him down the hall, where she chained him up into the bathtub.

She was very thorough with the chaining, and Spike watched her in mild interest, fighting the heavy feeling in his eyelids, and considered asking if she’d doped him, because he’d never had trouble staying awake in front of the enemy before. But he already knew she hadn’t. He would have smelled it, let alone tasted it. “You have to let him go, Love,” he said instead, gently.

Buffy glared at him. “First of all,” she said in a hard tone. “I do not need relationship advice from a _vampire_. And second of all, you’re one to talk. You mope about Drusilla every time you see a coffee stain that reminds you of her.”

“I moved on,” Spike said breezily.

Buffy snorted. “Yeah. With Harmony. That’s clearly not a rebound or anything.”

“Vampire, love. Rebound isn’t such a dirty word for us.” He hesitated. “Parker on the other hand…”

Buffy raised her fist, and Spike braced himself for her impact, but instead she let her hand drop, and looked at him. “You went back,” she said, after a long silence. “You went back for her.”

Spike leaned his head back on the edge of the tub. “Yeah.”

“Did it hurt?”

Spike raised his eyebrow. Why was she asking him that? “Yeah,” he said cautiously.

“Do you wish you hadn’t?”

Spike shrugged. “I loved her. Wasn’t about to let a trifling thing like her cheating on me get in the way of that.”

Buffy gave him kind of a surprised look. But then it faded, and she nodded. “That’s how I feel. Not that—Angel cheated on me. Well not in the conventional way.”

“You referring to his affair with the dark side, Slayer?”

“I love him,” Buffy said simply. “I love him, and he loves me, and he came tonight, and he didn’t even…” She bit her lip and turned away. “I have to see him,” she said in a determined whisper. “I need…”

“Of course you do,” Spike murmured. “Need to know if you’re still his One Girl in All the World, yeah? I’d do the same.” He gave a tired smirk. “And I have. But it’ll hurt, Love, there’s no avoiding that, if you go.”

“But I need to do it,” Buffy swallowed. Spike didn’t answer, and she fell quiet, as she finished adjusting his chains. Then she sat on the edge of the tub, her fingers gripping the sides as she stared down. “This is my life,” she said. “It’s Thanksgiving, and the man I love couldn’t be bothered to say hello, the boy I might like had his own family to fly to, my mother is visiting some extended relatives I never knew, and you… _you_ Spike, you’re the one who came home.” She sighed. “I loathe you so much.”

“Know you do,” Spike breathed, peering up at her from eyes that he could only keep open halfway.

Buffy looked at him, almost sympathetically. “You can stop fighting it, you know,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re safe here, Spike, you don’t have to look over your shoulder every minute.”

“Fat lot of comfort coming from the _Slayer_ …”

“I’m leaving for a few days. And no one’s gonna come after you here, and no one will try and stake you before I get back. And I will get Giles to bring you some blood tomorrow.” He watched her walk to the doorway, and look back at him. He could only blink at her in response. “You’re safe, Spike,” she repeated. “I mean, you knew that. It’s why you came to me, isn’t it?”

“You were a last resort…” he repeated, and he couldn’t try anymore. His eyes fell the rest of the way shut. How could they not? He’d never lost his sense of security before, and to have it back—even from her—was the strongest sedative she could have given him.

“Yeah,” he heard her say softly, as his awareness began to fade. “But you thought of me. You were in trouble and you came to _me_...” She sighed. “Try not to terrorize Giles when I’m gone. I’ll see you in a couple days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so Spike and Buffy's first meeting in "School Hard", their truce in "Becoming", and even their behavior in "Lovers Walk" are all moments before this story that laid groundwork for their relationship, and probably sparked interest in at least one of them (cough, Spike). 
> 
> But I like to think of the moments in this story as being some of the first where he really isn't so fixated on Drusilla anymore, and so can realize he's got a thing for Buffy instead.


	2. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willow makes a forgetting potion for Buffy and Spike. Set after "Something Blue."

Spike shifted in his chair, edging it closer to the TV. He shifted again, and then again, disregarding the scraping sounds it was making as it did so. His hands were free and he could have untied himself, but then there’d be the bother of tying himself back up, and that seemed like more work than it was worth.

He sighed, and then pursed his lips determinedly, shoving the chair forward so hard that the scraping sound was accompanied by a loud squeak. He tilted to the side and almost fell over, but the sofa arm was there to catch his fall, and he delicately pushed himself back up.

He took a break in his efforts, and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. He could hear the Slayer and her Watcher talking upstairs, in low, murmuring voices. They must have been trying extra hard to be quiet, because Spike couldn’t catch a word they said. He rolled his eyes, just to show how disapproving he was of them and their very existence, and tried moving his chair again.

The Slayer chose that moment to clomp down the stairs, and he almost toppled over again. He turned his eyes to her, and she returned his gaze, standing and glaring at him for a moment. Spike wondered if this was their life, now. Staring at each other, with all the horror and memory of the witch’s spell washing through their brains.

Because it had been a horror, make no mistake about that. Spike practically buzzed every time he thought of it, and clearly that was a bad thing. Clearly he was violently disgusted with the thought of doing anything that cozy and affectionate with her…

Buffy eventually moved over to the sofa arm and sat on it, pulling up a little side table with her. She hesitated, and then reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a small vial that contained a pale pink liquid. She set it on the side table, directly in front of him, and stared at it for a moment before looking up at him.

Spike tried not to let any reaction show in his face. “That it, then?” he asked.

“Yep,” Buffy said. “One forgetting potion, guaranteed to erase a night of traumas, or your memory back.”

“You know the last time the witch meddled in this sort of thing, it sort of went sideways. Wouldn’t want to forget my own name or who ends up with whom on _Passions,_ you know?”

“This one’s the real deal,” she promised. “She says potions are different than spells, and this one is a pretty straightforward one, anyway.”

Spike met her eyes again. “Well,” he said. “Suppose this is it, then, yeah? We take a swig, and live happily in the land of forgetfulness the rest of our days?”

“No more fake engagement memories,” Buffy said. “But, um, this one is just for you. Willow said she’d leave mine in the dorm—I kind of just grabbed this as soon as she was done with it and came straight over.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got his and hers potions? Why does it matter?”

“We have to have the same dosage, and…and we can only both forget if we both drink it.”

Spike raised the other eyebrow. “Oh. Right.”

“Yeah.” Buffy looked back down at the potion. She seemed to look reluctant about something, and after a minute of wrestling with herself, she stood up, and untied his ropes. Spike watched as they fell around him, and then looked up and narrowed his eyes at her. She glanced at him. “I just don’t want to forget to do that,” she said quietly, by way of explanation. “You know, after. I don’t want…I mean I’m not sure if I’d remember that I’d intended to do that.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed even further, and he stood up, warily, shoving the chair aside with his foot. “You’ve suddenly decided I’m not dangerous because you’ve seen me at my most vulnerable, is that it?”

“No,” she replied. “I just…realized you feel as threatened by the commandos as we do, and you’d have told us anything you knew by now, if only for a chance at getting…unneutered. And you didn’t go far when you escaped, and you let me capture you pretty easily.”

“I didn’t _let_ —”

“So you’re still our prisoner,” Buffy interrupted. “It’s just that I…that _we_ decided it could be a house arrest. And you can move around and get your own blood and stuff.”

Spike caught the slip. “You told Giles you wanted to do this.”

She looked away. “He trusts me. And you’re right. I figure that for the moment, you’re safe.”

He put his hands on his hips, and leaned slightly forward. “So why keep me at all, Slayer? When you know I don’t know anything? You just want me feeling comfortable so you can stake me when I’m not looking?”

She rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to stake you, I’d have done it. I don’t need to wait until you’re not looking.”

They stood there, staring, just like they’d been doing almost ever since the spell had ended. Horror washing over them, because it was horror. Horror that would never go away, unless…

Spike looked at the potion on the table, and snatched it up, before lowering himself slowly onto the coffee table. Buffy moved over to the sofa and sank down, so that her knees were almost touching his.

Spike turned the vial over in his hands. “Are you sure about this, Pet?”

“Spike, I don’t care that it wasn’t real, I am _not_ living with the memory of…of yesterday.”

“Don’t need to act all prim and proper about it,” he said in a low voice, glaring at her. “You know you could fall for me. Vampires are your type.”

“Right,” she said, sarcastically. “And Slayers are your thing. Falling for one is probably right up your alley.”

He shuddered as he felt the words run over him. No. Slayers had no control over him, and he had no fear of them. He sought them out, he killed them, end of story. The idea of him spending most of an evening lip-locked with one…

He closed his eyes and turned away. “I could never fall for you, Summers.”

She gave an annoyed huff, and he glanced back to see an angry defiance in her eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

“It means you’re a bloody Slayer, and yeah, I don’t fall for them. I suck them dry, I snap their bones, I leave their corpses in the dust behind—”

“This potion thing was your idea,” she said suddenly. “I don’t know why you want to back out now.”

“Didn’t say anything about backing out,” Spike immediately said, defensively. “I asked if _you_ were sure. You think I haven’t been wishing I could forget it ever since it happened? But it did happen, and I don’t much fancy the thought of losing any part of my life, however…” he shuddered again. “Degrading. And you don’t seem the type to enjoy having your brain tinkered with, either. It’s like having somebody lie to you for the rest of your days, even if that person was yourself.” He paused, and then added, “And how was it my idea? You’re the one who suggested it, and when Willow said she could actually make one, all I said was yes, please.”

“I don’t recall you using that second word,” Buffy said tartly. “I remember you using a whole lot of other ones, though.”

“Slayer,” Spike said, seriously. “Think about it. We take this potion, and we can’t ever go back. That’s an entire night that we’re just…missing.”

“Not an _entire_ night.”

Spike raised his hands, and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Have it your way. So we take the bloody potion, and are spared a night of humiliations.”

“Exactly.” She tilted her head, peering at him. “You agreed to this. I wasn’t gonna force you to take it, but I asked if you would and you said yeah.”

“I did. But it seems to matter to you, Love, a good deal more than it matters to me. Why do you need so desperately to forget?”

She didn’t answer for a while. She sat there, picking at a thread on her shirt, before standing up and moving to Giles’ spare room. She returned a moment later to the sofa, holding a blanket and pillow. “Giles says you can sleep on the couch, but you have to do it at night, like a regular person, and leave it available for public use in the daytime.”

“I don’t need those,” Spike said, before he could think about it.

Anger flashed across her face. “Fine, so don’t use them.” But she didn’t let go of them, she kept holding them in her lap, until she finally said, in a voice too low for him to have heard if he hadn’t been a vampire, “I was happy.”

Spike started in alarm. “Then what was all that about—”

“It wasn’t real,” Buffy amended. “We’ve been over that, and the sight of you makes me want to throw up now, obviously, but at the time? I was happy, and I don’t want to remember—fake happiness. Fake torture would have been easier.” She rubbed her face, and then said without warning, “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

“Way I see it, you were a victim in that spell just as much as me—”

“Not for the spell,” she said. “For what the commandos did to you.”

His look of alarm deepened into a frown. But more a confused frown, than an angry one.

She caught his look, and hastily said, “I mean…I’m not really sorry. I’m relieved it happened, and you’re a huge load off my mind now, and really, there is a very big part of me that thinks it’s hilarious.”

Something inside him wanted to be angry at her, but he found himself just gazing, hanging on to her every word.

“But,” she said, drawing a breath. “Something suddenly taking control of you, and now every single one of your actions is done because someone else says so? That…that I can sympathize with.” She paused, and then said, “Not that you don’t deserve it.”

“Slayer,” he said, earnestly. “Taking a forgetting potion does the same thing.”

Her head snapped up at him. “You don’t want to forget, do you?” she demanded. “Why are you so eager to hold onto this, huh?”

“I told you, I don’t fancy losing any time! I’ve had a long life, Slayer, but it would be a much shorter one if I’d removed every day that I don’t like to think about!”

“So you’re scared,” she challenged. “You think it’s not gonna work, don’t you?”

“All I’m saying is—”

She stood up, dropping the bedding onto the floor. “We were played, Spike. We were violated, we were puppets, and we were forced to do and say the most degrading things to each other. I don’t…really blame Willow because she didn’t mean to, but this was different than just not wanting to think about a bad day. This was _wrong_ , all of it, and we shouldn’t have to just live with it when it wasn’t even us!”

“You think _I’m_ a coward?” Spike growled, standing up and hovering over her, staring straight down into her eyes. “So it wasn’t optimal, so it wasn’t you behind the wheel, but boo hoo, Slayer, your line of duty is going to earn you many battle scars worse than this, and you can’t just live blissfully ignorant of them.”

She opened her mouth to fight back, but he snatched up the potion, and in one smooth motion had flicked the top off and tipped the contents into his mouth. He glared at her shocked expression, and squeezed the vial until it shattered in his hand.

And she looked…well, still shocked, honestly. Not angry, not confrontational for anything he’d said. Just surprised, like she hadn’t thought he’d actually do it.

Finally she lifted her chin, and said, “Don’t talk to me about battle scars. I’m sporting more than my fair share of them already, and I’m not done yet.”

She turned and strode out of the house, and when she’d gone, he glowered at the door, and made his way over to the kitchen to pick the shards of glass out of his palm. He watched the blood run over his hand, reeling with anger, with hatred, and with a flash of regret that he tried his best to squash down. It wasn’t like he needed those memories. Wasn’t like he wanted to remember. If she thought this was best, fine, chit would get her way just like she always did. It was a horror to think about, anyway.

But tears insisted on pricking strongly behind his eyes when he made his way over to the couch. He laid down on it, and then glanced at the cast-off bedding. She’d been holding it. Hugging it to herself. It was covered in her scent. Her scent, her hateful scent, the one that screamed self-righteousness, and always somehow signaled his defeat…

He gathered up the blanket and pillow, stuffing them around him. He closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling, and as her musk instantly surrounded him, clouding his brain, penetrating his nose and throat, he fell asleep.

When he awoke the next morning, he frowned at the ceiling in confusion. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and that bloody witch had gone and buggered up another attempt at magic.

Because he still remembered. He got up, and began heating a mug of blood, watching the door as he waited for her to come and demand to know what he had done. Naturally she would think to blame him first. Before realizing that maybe her precious friend was in the wrong, _again._

They came in a group, and when Willow saw Spike she must have remembered, because she turned to Buffy and asked, “Hey, did ya drink the potion?”

“What potion?” Buffy asked.

Spike instantly tensed, and looked sharply at her. The witch had majorly screwed up this time. She must have neglected to turn on the vampire setting when she was working her mojo, and only Buffy had been affected. Convenient that that hadn’t been an issue when the damned spell was cast in the first place.

But bloody hell, was he going to be the only one of the two to remember? He hadn’t wanted to forget, but if _she_ didn’t even know what had happened—

Anya rolled her eyes. “Willow, if she did take it, she wouldn’t exactly know—”

“I didn’t take any potion.” Buffy looked straight at Spike as she said it, and he could have sworn he felt his heart pounding.

“Right,” Willow said quickly. “Um, just forget it then.”

“Uh huh.” Buffy waited until her friends had begun talking among themselves, and then she walked over to him. His eyes darted all over her face, trying to figure her out, and she slowly reached her hand out, and laid a vial identical to his on the counter.

It still had the liquid in it, and he glared at it. He could feel the tears returning, and he tried to glower at her to cover them up. He was not going to let them fall in front of her. “Why didn’t you drink it?” he demanded.

“You were right,” she said. “I kept saying it wasn’t real, that I didn’t want to remember it if it wasn’t. But it _did_ happen, and if we erase that…” she cleared her throat. “Then _that’s_ not real.” She undid the vial, and turned it upside down into the sink, before throwing it into the trash.

Spike’s eyes darted over every movement, finally looking back up at her. She was watching him, expressionless. He opened his mouth, willing something witty and scornful to spring to mind, but nothing did. Nothing at all. He closed his mouth and just stared.

“But they all think we took it,” Buffy reminded him. “Which means---”

“Which means it never happened.” Spike swallowed and nodded, hoping he was just imagining the catch in his voice. “Read you loud and clear, Love.”

She’d kept the memory. Horrible and confusing though it was, she’d kept the memory. And it probably would be a battle scar, for both of them, that would haunt them for years to come.

But she’d chosen to bear that, and without her friends knowing, no less.

She’d chosen to remember with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Willow must have actually cast a forgetting spell for them in the show--because seriously, all that history and all those mixed feelings between Spike and Buffy in future seasons, and their fake engagement was never again alluded to??


	3. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike looks for Buffy to patrol with. Set after "Doomed."

“Come on, vampires, grr, nasty!” Spike was so eager he was afraid he was going to start bouncing up and down if he couldn’t get out soon. He didn’t understand why the Slayer’s little pals weren’t getting it. “Let’s annihilate them, for justice, and for…the safety of puppies and…” his brain searched for something else. “Christmas, right? Let’s fight that evil! Let’s kill something!”

Xander and Willow still just stared blankly at him, and Xander picked up the remote and calmly turned the TV back on. Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh come on! Fine, you lot would just drag us down anyway. I’ll find the Slayer myself, don’t wait up.” He grabbed his coat and flounced out of Xander’s basement, half-expecting at least a protest from the whelp about not being allowed to just wander on his own.

But whatever those two had been watching really had them glued to the screen. Fine by him. He’d return when he was done; there was blood and a roof here at least. But he’d been itching to stretch his legs for days, and the brief stint to the hellmouth hadn’t come near to satisfying enough.

He headed off towards the university, almost running, though he wasn’t sure that Buffy would be there. She might be out patrolling already. Well, if that was the case, he’d still be able to find her. It wasn’t as if she’d send him away, when he could actually watch her back now.

He almost stopped walking when that thought passed through his brain. Watch her back? Was that what he had come to? He wanted to join the Slayer in her mission, wanted to _watch_ her _back_?

He shook it off. That didn’t matter, what mattered was he could still show the town who the Big Bad around here was. And if he had to do that by slaying others of his kind, well, it wasn’t as if he thought of them any more fondly than he did of humans.

He pranced right up to Buffy’s dorm room, and barged in without knocking. Buffy was sitting on her bed, dressed as though ready to patrol, twirling a stake in her hands. But she was staring out, vacantly. Spike briefly wondered if she’d been waiting for him, and then pushed the thought away impatiently. She hadn’t known he was even coming.

“Hey!” he said, grinning at her. “Thought you might fancy some backup, you know, since I can do that sort of thing now. How about it, Slayer, one more truce under our belts?”

She turned to give him a disinterested stare. “Backup?” she asked, in a faraway voice.

“Patrolling. Slaying. Performing your sacred duty, and all that rot. At least you know you don’t have to worry about me, like you do all your little Scooby friends.”

“Patrolling,” Buffy repeated. She looked down at the stake in her lap. “Right.”

Spike frowned in confusion. “What’s the matter, Love, you forget how to use that thing? Here’s a refresher course: the pointy end goes through a vampire’s heart.” He suddenly held up his hands. “Someone else’s, though. Someone not offerin’ to watch your back.” He swallowed. There was that phrase again, only he’d said it aloud this time.

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes full of so much…apathy that he wished he could hit her, if only to spark anger. “I stopped an apocalypse yesterday.”

Spike considered. “Yeah, I know, I was sort of there.”

“It was so sudden,” Buffy said, in a slow voice. “One minute everything was fine, the next I’m fighting a battle to save the world.”

“What you were chosen for, innit?”

Buffy gave an exasperated sigh. “What are you even doing here, Spike? I thought you were all with the dusting yourself. You seem awfully spirited now.”

He shrugged, and walked over so he was standing in front of her. He crossed his arms. “Got my rocks back. I can kill demons now. Sort of thing makes a bloke want to stick around.”

“Well, that’s something. Never thought I’d need to be concerned if a demon wanted to kill itself, but then a group of them tried to end the world by doing that.” She paused. “And they almost succeeded.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “No need to be so dramatic, Pet. You stop things like that every day. The closer you get to losing, the more thrilling the fight.”

“No,” she gasped, violently shaking her head. “No, that’s how it is for _you_ , because you’ve got nothing to lose. But I…I have _everything_ to lose, and not just me, I…the world depends on me, Spike. And this…I was so close to letting this slip past me.” She looked at him again, and the dullness in her eyes was replaced by terror. “I was _so_ close. Not even to just losing…I was close to not noticing what was happening.” He gave her a slight frown, and she abruptly stood up and headed towards the door. “Forget it…I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this.”

“Hang on,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Your head’s in the clouds, Slayer, and you go out now you’re sure to lose, no close about it.”

“Thanks, Spike, your vote of confidence is really encouraging.”

He twisted her arm around to face him, and got a slight twinge in his head in return. He shrugged it off, and stared at her. “You know you’ve been dancing with death, and world destruction, ever since you were chosen. What is it about this one’s got you quaking in your boots?”

“The actual quake, for one thing. I died last time there was one.”

Spike raised his eyebrows. “You…”

“And I came back, and that’s why there’s two Slayers now.” Buffy waved her hand, as if it wasn’t important. “It’s not important.”

Cripes, but she baffled him. “But you didn’t die this time.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “But I was prepared to.” She paused. “I went into the hellmouth, Spike. Like, actually into it. I dove in there with the intention of giving my life up…even before Riley attached a cable to me, I’d already decided that that was it for me.”

Spike still didn’t understand. “And?”

She paused. “I was only in there for a moment,” she said in a ragged whisper. “And I’ve seen things come out of it, so I know what kind of…evil lives down there. It’s just…being there…seeing…I’m not even sure what I saw, and it was so brief, but…”

Spike gave a slow nod. He wasn’t sure he still really understood, but he tried to piece it together anyway. “Realized how tall of an order has been placed with you, that it? Knowing if we all got in one big line and you started taking off our heads one by one, you still couldn’t come close to depleting the supply that Hell’s got laden for you?”

She gave him a rage-filled glare then, and he felt a small triumph in having done that without having to hit her. But the rage quickly faded, and she sighed and slumped into the chair at her desk. “Yeah,” she said. “Something like that.”

He nodded again. “Bet being in there didn’t help with your confidence, either. Wallowing in evil juices…” he paused. “Never been inside a hellmouth proper, but I know that kind of thing does stuff to you. To your way of thinking. It influences.”

Buffy looked sharply up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just shrugged. “It’s nothing that won’t wear off. Just saying your outlook on life is smarting a bit, and your confidence and zeal are all that worse for wear.” He crouched down in front of her. “Must have been traumatizing, seeing that pure, unbridled evil so up close and personal.”

She squinted at him. “I have no idea if you’re putting me down or trying to boost me up.”

“Well, which one is working?”

She continued squinting, until her face broke into a tiny smile, and she puffed out a laugh. “I don’t know. If anything, I think you’re just making me more confused than I was before.” She considered. “I thought I was just having messy, mixed-up Riley feelings, but I went to him and cleared all that up with him last night, and still felt all…worse for wear-y.”

Spike frowned. “Riley?” He tried to remember who that was, and suddenly he remembered the commando hovering over Buffy. The one who had seemed to recognize him. The one Buffy definitely seemed chummy with, enough at least that she could have easily told him that his missing lab experiment was standing right there.

But she didn’t…she hadn’t. And her friends had kept their traps shut, too.

“Yeah,” Buffy was saying, when he refocused on her. “And I guess we’re dating now.” She squinted in confusion again. “I don’t know why I told you that, either.”

“Bloody trying to backstab me, that’s why! You have any idea what his infantry did to me?” Spike had intended more malice to be put behind those words, but Buffy’s giggle told him he’d failed. Well, of course he’d failed, because he knew she hadn’t stabbed him in the back at all.

She had protected him. Was protecting him still, from a new beau that she was probably eager to impress. He couldn’t think why…saving him from ending his life was one thing, maybe, but even Willow’s claim that it was “ooky” to let him die just because they knew him…it couldn’t be enough for this. That glorified park ranger probably thought Spike belonged to him, and if Buffy had suddenly decided that the soldier boys were the good guys, why would she have any qualms about handing him over to them?

She’d been standing right there…she’d let him lie to Riley’s face and hadn’t said a word…

Buffy looked at him with an actual smile, and stood up. “Well,” she said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the demons _are_ all going to get in a line for me to behead them, so I should probably… ”

“Oh, don’t worry about patrolling, Love.” Spike spoke casually, and the wave of his hand reflected his tone. “I’ll cover it.”

She stopped. “You. You’ll cover patrolling.”

“If you’ll recall, that is what I came in here to offer my help with.”

“It’s not just an errand you can run, Spike. There is no…I mean you can’t just cover it.”

“Why not? All you do is a sweep of the cemeteries and knock down anyone in your path, yeah? I can do that. In fact, everything in me is practically screaming at me to do it, so if you don’t let me, I’m afraid you and I will have to go a round first.” He paused, remembering the chip. “Somehow.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“What have I been bloody telling you? My life is built on violence, and if all I can kill are demons, demons are what I’ll kill.”

Buffy looked hesitant, and Spike rolled his eyes again. “Take my advice, Slayer. You go out there all distracted like, and something _will_ get the jump on you. Fought enough of your kind to know that, and it’s not that you lack the skill, it’ll happen because you let it happen.”

She rolled her eyes in turn. “ _I’m_ not suicidal, Spike, unlike some—”

“Didn’t say you were,” he cut in. “It’s not about that. Not about causing your death, it’s about letting your life cease. And someday I will get this chip out, and…” he flashed her a grin. “I’ll be the one to make that happen.”

Buffy bit her lip, and looked towards her bed. “Fine,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll take a night off, but only because I was probably going to anyway.” She turned back to him. “It’s a one-time deal. Tomorrow if you want to kill something you have to do it where I can see you.”

He stood up straighter and smirked. “That’s always been the case, Love.”

“Whatever.” She walked towards her bed, and he headed towards the door. He didn’t turn back, but he stopped when he had his hand on the door, and heard her say a soft, “Thank you.”

He almost turned to tell her snidely that he wasn’t doing this for any thanks, but then he realized that she hadn’t really meant him to hear it. And he’d escaped without any damage to his features, so he just took his winnings and left.

Once outside, he looked back up at her window, and smirked again when he saw her hurriedly dart away from it. He turned to face forwards, and raised a hand to wave without looking at her.

One-time deal, she’d said, and he wouldn’t have argued. It wasn’t like he could just go around doing favors for the Slayer all the time. He could _watch her back_ , sure, in the name of sportsmanship, but shouldering her burden was another matter entirely. It was only this once, because she’d protected him.

Because she’d saved his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care that "Doomed" was kind of a sloppy episode, I think the Spike storyline in it absolutely redeems it.


	4. Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike finds out it wasn't really Buffy seducing him at the Bronze. Set after "Who Are You?"

“I could squeeze you until you popped like warm champagne and you’d beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. And you know why I don’t?”

Spike was past the point of caring what Buffy was saying. Her voice was so low and heady…he hadn’t even known she could do that. Like she was relishing every sound that came off her tongue. She’d ensnared him in her thrall, somehow, and she wasn’t even a vampire. His half-lidded eyes flickered up to meet hers, his tongue completely swollen in his mouth. He’d heard her, but he didn’t know if she expected him to respond. He just needed her, needed her now, if she wanted to take him, he was ready. Any second now she’d…

“Because it’s _wrong_ ,” she drawled, still seductively. Her shiny lips tilted into a grin, and she gave a slow laugh as she took her hands off him and backed away.

He could only follow her motion with his head, staring after her in disbelief. “I get this chip out,” he managed to say, relieved that his tongue had actually loosened when he needed it to, “You and me are gonna have a confrontation.”

She didn’t even bat an eye. “Count on it.”

And then she was gone, leaving Spike to smash his bottle against a wall, and sail out of the Bronze as quickly as he could.

What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the _HELL?_

A day later, and he was still reeling from confusion, and hatred, and…and other pent-up feelings that he didn’t feel exactly right harboring for her. Mostly he just felt hatred.

“She’s gone off her trolley, that’s what it is,” he informed his TV, which wasn’t even on, but he hadn’t noticed that, and was sitting in the chair in front of it, bouncing one leg up and down. “She isn’t like that, no, she always plays so tender and innocent, as if I don’t know perfectly well that she likes to get down and dirty. Left herself open now though, she has.” He stood up abruptly, and searched the nooks in the walls for a bottle of whiskey he knew he’d left somewhere. “If she was going to…to _tease_ so then she should have followed through. Shouldn’t have—” He found the bottle with about a quarter left, and twisted the cap off, sighing before downing most of its contents. “Shouldn’t have started the motor if she didn’t have any plans to drive somewhere.”

He tried to forget it, tried to just not think about it, but the way she’d looked…the way she _sounded_ …

He needed to confront her about it. It would likely be humiliating, and he might leave even more confused than he’d been the first time, but if she thought she could do that; thought she could say those things and then just walk away, without even punching him, like he didn’t even matter…well, she had another think coming.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, checking to see if the sun had yet gone down. It hadn’t. “What is she doing to me?”

He perched on top of the sarcophagus in the middle of the room, crossed his legs, and fumbled in his duster for his lighter as he waited. But he hadn’t even gotten the cigarette into his mouth when he sensed her.

She slammed his door open before he had time to react, but she walked in calmly enough. He didn’t move, just raised his eyes to watch her. _She_ wasn’t angry, or confused, or acting at all apologetic for the way she’d treated him. She’d just slammed the door open because it was just some dank crypt that a vampire was hiding in, and she could do that.

He seethed at the thought. She always did have a superiority complex. Last night had driven that home especially, if nothing else had.

But she just looked mildly around the room, and asked, “You got cable?”

He breathed out a puff of smoke. “Yep. And the Internet. And a hoverboard, and a flying car. You know, all the comforts of a modern home.” But he eyed her warily. She’d made a joke. She’d come in, and made a casual joke, as if she didn’t violently dislike him, and hadn’t run her hands so sensually over his chest…

She wasn’t acting nervous, exactly, but he could sense that on her all the same. This was just a week of bloody firsts for her, wasn’t it? She’d never been nervous around him before.

“Come to finally test the waters, then?” he asked, trying to smirk, and eyeing her to see how she’d take it. “Or are you planning to just shake the bottle without taking the cap off again?”

She blinked in confusion, and then rolled her eyes. “I swear, Spike, sometimes I don’t think even _you_ know what you’re saying.”

He raised his eyebrows, but decided not to clarify. Maybe she’d just been so tanked she didn’t even know what she’d done the previous night. And he was surprised to feel disappointment blooming in his chest over that thought. He hated every bone in her body for making such a fool out of him, but she could have at least had the decency to be aware she was doing it.

He took another drag. “What are you doing here, Slayer?”

She folded her arms, and then unfolded them, before folding them once more. She looked at the floor.

Nervousness. Definitely. Either that or she was grappling with something inside that noggin of hers. Now Spike’s curiosity was piqued.

“Damage control,” she finally said.

“What?”

She sighed, almost in exasperation, like he should have known exactly what she meant without her having to spell it out. And he was trying to guess, but all he could think was that she’d come with the intention to kill him. That would be damage control, wouldn’t it? In her mind anyway? Not that he’d done any damage recently…and besides, she wouldn’t look so damn skittish if that had been her intention.

“If I said anything to you in the past two days…I need you to just disregard it.”

Ah. So she _had_ come about last night. That was something, anyway.

But he wasn’t going to give her the benefit of anything, doubt or otherwise. He flicked his cigarette away and slid of the sarcophagus. “Really,” he said heatedly. “You think you can get out of anything that way? You selling that story to your pals, too? ‘Ignore me, I was being crazy, that wasn’t really me.’”

“It wasn’t,” Buffy said.

“I know you’ve been under spells before, Slayer, but if you play that card enough times, people are going to start assuming you’re just always under an enchantment.” His words were tense and loaded with spite, but he actually did believe it had been a spell. Disappointment continued to flourish in his chest, but at least he knew there wasn’t an entirely different side of her to figure out. He still knew her, she was still his Slayer.

 _His_ Slay—?

“I wish,” Buffy said, cutting his thoughts short. She was staying remarkably even-tempered through this process, even though Spike knew his barbs were getting to her. They always did. It was one of his favorite things about her. “I mean, I wish that it had been a spell, not that I wish…people would always assume it was.” She gave a long, tired sigh. “That wasn’t…exactly me. In my body.”

He tilted his head, forehead wrinkling. “Is that right? You’re telling me someone worked up the mojo to don the Slayer’s wrapping?” He only allowed himself one second to think too hard about that, before asking, “Who was it?”

Buffy snorted, but still with an even temper. “Doesn’t matter, she’s gone now. But, she went around destroying potential friendships and screwing my boyfriend and doing I don’t know what else.” She suddenly flushed, as if she hadn’t meant to reveal that much, and looked up at Spike. He caught a flash of pain in her eyes, that she quickly replaced with a hardened look. She pursed her lips—still shiny, he noticed—and drew herself up straighter. “Hence the damage control. I’m checking in with everyone I know who she might have run into. So, did you see me in the past couple days?”

He gave a broad smirk, knowing it would infuriate her, and leaned back against the sarcophagus. “How should I remember? I see you all the bloody time. Stands to reason you might have crossed my path recently, but it’s not like I cherish these little brushes between us.”

Her calm demeanor vanished in an instant, and anger flashed in her eyes. “Crap,” she said, under her breath, and Spike realized her anger hadn’t been directed at him. At least not all of it. “What did she say to you, Spike?”

He shrugged. “Something about staking me, I expect,” he said, casually. “You don’t remember? Even when you’re possessed, you’re usually aware enough inside to—”

“Wasn’t a possession,” she said, staring off into space, away from him. “She literally switched bodies with me.”

He thought about that for a second too hard as well, before quickly saying, “Well, what do you care what this girl said to me? I’d be more concerned about the screwing your boyfriend in your body part. That’s gotta drive a wedge between you.”

He didn’t even see her fist coming before it was slamming into his nose. He went flying over the sarcophagus, landing on his back, a metallic liquid dribbling into his mouth.

“That is so none of your business,” she snapped, walking in long, confident strides around the coffin so she could still see him. “And why do you think I’m here, anyway? I need to know if she did something similar to you.” _And I need to know if you let her_ , her eyes practically screamed at him.

Spike blinked. “Why would she do something similar to me? Evil undead here, you know. Unless of course she—”

“She was human,” Buffy confirmed. “And that’s what she does. Takes whatever she can, whoever it is. I’ve never known her to do it with a vampire, but the way she sees it, if you’re hot enough, it doesn’t matter what else you are.”

He slowly climbed to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose. But he couldn’t resist sauntering over to her again, and giving another slow, broad smirk. “Think I’m hot, do you?”

“I’m talking about her,” Buffy said, the anger still present in her voice, but she’d lowered her volume. “Not me. What did she say to you?”

He closed the rest of the gap between them. He tilted his head, looking down into her cold eyes, letting his own eyes drift over the downturned curve of her lips, and the crimps in her blonde hair. That hadn’t been her. She hadn’t been the one to tease him, hadn’t been the one he was ready to give himself over to.

But it had been. Girls had been whispering similar words to him for decades, and they’d never made any sort of impression on him before. If the girl, whoever it was, had been in her own skin, he probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance, probably would have shrugged her off and kept moving.

But he’d thought it was the Slayer. He’d thought it was Buffy saying those things to him, and now he was here, again breathing in her scent, playing those words over and over again in his mind.

She was so strong, so powerful. He hadn’t doubted a word she’d said. Even if they hadn’t really been from her, they were all true. She could be such an animal if she let herself…

He snapped back to reality with a jolt. He refused to let this girl have any power over him. He was strong enough to fight this. “Yeah,” he said, trying to wrench himself away from her gaze, and finding he couldn’t. “She said some things that suggested…” he quirked an eyebrow. “But she didn’t make good on any of them. No doubt saving herself for the current object of your affections.” She stiffened, and he smiled triumphantly. This was good. Remind himself how good it felt to hurt her, even only emotionally. “Either that, or she didn’t want to stoop all the way down to a vampire’s level. Not like you, of course, with—”

Another punch to the face, and this time Spike was sure he felt something crack. He hit a wall and slumped down, making no moves to get up.

Buffy stalked over to him, and crouched down, her head hanging over him. He could feel more blood gushing, this time from his mouth as well, and his head was throbbing as he tried to blink up at her.

“Whatever she said to you,” Buffy said, in a voice cold and uncaring as a snake, “Forget it.”

He watched her go, as best he could, anyway, and let his head fall back on the cold floor once the door slammed shut. He closed his eyes, and he tried to forget it—not because she told him to, but because he’d been going to do that, anyway.

But he couldn’t. It was too tantalizing a fantasy. He knew it wasn’t her, but it _had_ been, what she said had tumbled out of _her_ mouth…

He was desperate to banish any thoughts of her, his head was throbbing even harder as he felt hatred for her flow over him, and he knew, above all else, that he needed to make her pay for this…for all of this. For taunting him, for barging into his home whenever she pleased, for beating him when his handicap wouldn’t let him lay a finger on her.

For being so gorgeous and vibrant and alive and _strong_ when she did those things. For being sodding impossible to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may have been the moment I started to ship them. The moment I saw that he was willing if she was.


	5. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike joins the fight to defeat Adam. Set during "Primeval."

Make no mistake, Spike had never worked for Adam.

He’d only been looking out for himself, and his best interests, which included, first of all, not crossing this gladiator cyborg Godzilla…thing, and second of all, getting the bloody chip removed from his person at any and all costs.

But he understood what the consequences would be if Adam succeeded in his plan. He was right there, listening to Adam talk about it, watching all his carefully laid out schemes come to fruition. He knew he didn’t have a chance at stopping Adam; that would have to be the Slayer’s deal. And he refused to play for her side, but that didn’t stop him from nudging Buffy in Adam’s direction every time he could.

Pitting the Scoobies against each other had been the most fun he’d had in a good long while, and Spike had thrown himself into it wholeheartedly, and it had succeeded even more than he’d expected. But then Adam charged him with somehow getting them to speak to each other again just long enough for the plan to continue, and Spike found himself in a cave alone with the Slayer, wondering if that would be enough.

“What about those disks I nabbed?” he asked her. “They oughta tell you something.”

He watched her face, watched her eyes flicker to the ground, and knew it wasn’t. She couldn’t win without her friends. Well, she _could_ , but she might not, and that wasn’t really a risk to be taken right now. And she suddenly looked so alone and vulnerable in that massive cave, clutching an axe like it would fix all her problems…and he made his choice.

“Willow has the disks,” Buffy admitted.

“Well, I’d get on that,” Spike said, trying to catch her gaze. “Can’t ignore valuable information just ‘cause you two birds fell out now, can you?”

He watched her, pleading, begging her to get it. _C’mon, Slayer, I know you’re smart enough…_

And she was, and he saw the instant she figured him out. “Right,” she said, airily.

“Well, you do what you want,” he said, shrugging, and backing away from her. She probably wouldn’t let him know with a punch to the nose that she’d caught on, but best not tempt fate anyway. “No worry of mine now, is it?”

He kept trying to get Adam to remove his chip, continued hounding him and reasoning with him, but Spike knew it was fruitless at this point. He couldn’t be sure Adam even knew how to get the chip out, but he _was_ pretty sure Adam wouldn’t let such a valuable—Spike refused to use the word “minion”— _associate_ go free. No, he’d string him on as long as possible.

Spike had gone along with this plan to save his own neck, but the water had been rising steadily for a while now, and he was in way over his head.

When he looked at Adam’s monitor and saw Buffy and her friends together, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was finally going down, and here they all were, ready to take down the Big Bad that was currently a threat to Spike. 

“You failed me again,” Adam said disdainfully.

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” Spike said absently.

“What’s the other way?”

 _The other way is that I let them come together to save the world, you git._ But instead of saying that out loud, Spike bolted. This was the time. He knew he just had to get to her, and once he did, he’d be safe.

Even if she did think he’d betrayed her.

But if she did think that, she didn’t seem upset when she saw him. She barely gave him a second glance before launching back into the fray, and she even seemed almost grateful to have him fighting alongside her in the mess of demons and gunfire.

He still expected to get an earful afterwards, but one look at her and he realized she wasn’t in the mood. The gash on her forehead had reopened, and she’d been bruised somewhere near it. She was still standing tall, lifting her chin and surveying the scene, but she was holding on by a thread. She was on the verge of crashing, and no one besides Spike seemed to notice.

Her great milksop of a boyfriend even had the nerve to kiss her. As if now was at all an appropriate time for that. Spike rolled his eyes at the lack of decorum. Shameful, really.

“You’ll be okay?” he was asking her. “Graham needs my help tending to the men, and…I assume there’ll be people with a few questions for me.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said, smiling. “Just make sure you are, too.”

Riley kissed her again, before turning and walking off to the other soldiers.

Buffy watched him go, then turned to the other four. “Okay,” she said. “Willow, could you do a magic sweep, see if there’s any…any more…” She swallowed and started swaying, before pitching to one side.

Her friends all jumped towards her with exclamations of worry, but Spike was the one who caught her. He hadn’t meant to. He just happened to be on the side she fell towards.

He caught her upper arms stiffly and pushed her back up, and she opened her eyes and looked at him, in surprise, almost. Like she didn’t think he’d be the one to catch her.

Or maybe she’d assumed he’d just let her fall. Maybe he should have. They’d won, Adam was dead, Spike was energized and feeling the rush of all the violence, and really it had turned into a pretty decent day. Watching the Slayer smash her pert little nose on the cement floor would have just been the icing on the cake.

But he hadn’t, and the other three snatched Buffy out of his hands. As Xander and Willow clung to one arm each, Giles took her chin in his hands, and tilted it, studying her gash.

“I’m fine,” she protested. “It’s been a long day, but…” She leaned on Xander’s shoulder and sagged between her friends.

“It has,” Giles agreed. “For all of us, but I fear most of all for you. We don’t know what this spell might have done…”

“I’m fine, Giles.”

“Even so,” Giles said. “I think it would be best if we took you home.”

“We can’t leave,” Buffy said, and Spike found himself smiling admiringly. Even if her body was shutting down on her, she was still biting back. Still a fighter. He caught his smile and immediately turned it into a frown, hoping no one had noticed.

“Well,” Xander said. “Not all of us, anyway. Willow needs to do that magic sweep, Giles was still getting people towards the exits, and I’m getting pretty handy with all this military stuff.” He gave Spike a cold glare. “Doesn’t mean I’m off to Boot Camp any time soon, though.”

Giles turned to Spike, as well, and he was giving him an almost calculating frown. Spike started shifting uncomfortably under it. Why hadn’t he just buggered off when he’d had the chance?

“Spike,” Giles said slowly, and then sighed, and shook his head. “No, never mind.”

Spike realized what he’d been about to say, and raised an eyebrow. “What, you want _me_ to escort the young lady home?”

“I didn’t say that,” Giles mumbled. “She’d be safer by herself than with you. I can’t trust you to help her if she passes out.”

“Not without a price, anyway. So, what’s her life worth to you, Book Man?”

“Her life is certainly worth yours,” Giles said pointedly. “But I’m willing to add $100 in the mix.”

Spike tutted. “How does that make you feel, Pet? In my day the life of a Slayer was actually valuable.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Giles, I can walk home by myself, you don’t need to waste money on him.”

“Will you do it?” Giles asked, ignoring her and looking at Spike.

“You’re actually gonna trust her with him?” Xander asked. “The guy who sold us out and wanted us dead an hour ago?”

“He has proven he will do what he says if he’s being paid for it,” Giles said.

Spike chose to bite back every single one-liner that rose into his head at that, and instead just nodded. “Yeah. I’ll make sure she gets home in one piece.”

Xander’s eyes were daggers as he looked at Spike. “She can still take you,” he said warningly. “If you try anything.”

“Believe me, that thought had occurred,” Spike said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced at Buffy, tilting his head towards the elevator. “Come on, then.”

Buffy sighed, and looked back at her friends as she followed. Giles smiled and squeezed her shoulder as she passed. “We’ll be along soon,” he said.

Buffy followed Spike up to the elevator, which was shaking and damaged, but still took them up. Spike looked at her on the way, and then closed his eyes, turning his head.

“What?” she asked.

“We’re gonna have to do something about that before anything else,” he said.

“Something about…?”

Spike opened his eyes and looked pointedly at the gash on her forehead. She reached her fingertips up and touched it, wincing. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Slayer healing may be on your side, but I can’t walk all the way to Revello Drive with you smelling like Sunday roast.”

“Gross, Spike.”

He smirked, and stepped out of the elevator as it reached the house. She began heading towards the bathroom, moving slowly, one hand against the wall to brace herself. Spike didn’t rush her, and followed as she reached her destination. She pulled a first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet, and slowly lowered herself onto the floor.

Her hands were shaking as she opened it, and he knew she was about to collapse again. He wasn’t surprised. The blood gushing out of her head was probably making her woozy.

He crouched in front of her and held out his hand. “Give it here, Love.”

She glared at him suddenly, holding the supplies away from him.

He rolled his eyes. “This is going to take for sodding ever if I let you do it, so just hand it over, yeah? I’m doing us both a favor.”

“Right, and this is not at all a ploy to get my blood on your fingers?”

Actually, that was a thought only just now occurring to him, which was a wonder in itself. But he just rolled his eyes again. “You wanna bleed out in the house of your Cub Scout? I wager he’s in enough trouble as it is, it wouldn’t do for him to have to explain a murder scene as well.”

She gave him a sulky look, but let him have the gauze and tape in her hands. He nodded briefly, and swiftly cleaned her injury, before he started taping over it.

She let her head fall back against the cabinet as he did so, and closed her eyes.

“Hey.” He tapped her cheek. “I’m gonna need you to stay awake, Slayer. If you land in a coma, your mates are coming after me with wooden pitchforks.”

She blinked her eyes open. “I don’t have a concussion,” she said, her words almost slurring.

“I don’t know that, and neither do you. Besides, if you conk out, guess who has to carry you home?” He was silent for a moment, and then said, “If I were you, though, I’d want to do everything I could not to fall asleep tonight, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Mighty powerful spell you did. Every demon for miles would have felt it. Probably some who downright swooned at the thought of it. You don’t just walk away from that without some kind of night terrors.”

She scoffed, and her eyes started slipping closed again, but she forced them back open, and shifted her position. “How do you know so much about it?”

He fixed her with a steady glare, and then smirked. “I don’t.” He finished taping over her wound, and decided to leave the mess in the bathroom. She didn’t seem to notice, and didn’t protest when he helped her up.

The walk to her house was slow, and also considerably longer than Spike remembered. He should have just taken her back to her dorm room, but she’d have been alone if that happened. No, better for her to walk all this way and have her own bedroom, in a house, with a mother to look out for her.

Buffy didn’t say anything at first, and she had to stop a couple times and press her hands to her head, before her dizziness apparently subsided and she started again. But after a while she seemed to perk up a little more, and she stopped having waves of dizziness.

“You were working for Adam,” she suddenly said, accusingly. “And you weren’t even upfront about it.”

He cringed. Wonderful. “No,” he said defiantly. “I was working for me. It’s a world of difference.”

“Not if both of your goals were for me to wind up dead.”

He turned his head to her. “Really, Love,” he scolded. “You should know better by now.”

“Know what?” she asked huffily.

“That I have a particular fondness for my own unlife, and also a bit of a professional interest in making sure the world doesn’t go up in flames. No Slayer has ever stopped nearly as many apocalypses as you. I can’t trust the next one to do as good a job.” He paused. “Also, she might stake me.”

“You want me alive so I don’t stake you? Spike, that is my job. It’s my mission to kill every single vampire, I’ve just sort of put you on the waiting list, but believe me. Your number will come up.”

“Lovely,” he said shortly. “Well, I’ll remember that the next time I decide to help you.”

“When did you help me?” she asked skeptically. It was a rhetorical question, but Spike glared at her and answered it anyway.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he snapped. “When I helped you rescue the wolf. When I gave you those disks. When I showed you how to sneak into the Initiative. When I—”

“You did all those things because Adam told you to. He’s been watching me. He wanted me to find him.”

Spike had no answer at first, but then he said, “He told me to split you up.”

“Yeah, and you did. You found their bruises, and you pushed. You’re really sick, you know that? And after every time I’ve stuck my neck out for you this year—”

“I didn’t push yours.”

“What?”

He cocked his head and looked at her. “Your bruises. Didn’t push ‘em. Left you out of the loop, meaning you only attacked your friends because they attacked you first. I never touched you.”

That threw her for a minute, but then she said, “You almost destroyed us, Spike.”

“Until I didn’t. Until I let you know I’d been playing your friends and you all were having a row just because the daft vampire said some daft things to them.” He chuckled, almost bitterly. “If I’d been able to do that, destroy your friendships for good? That would have meant they were just ripe for the destroying.”

She hit him in the shoulder, hard, so hard he staggered and hit street lamp on his other side. He glared at her, but she was giving him a subdued look, before she glanced forward again. “That’s kind of what I thought, too,” she said softly. “That doesn’t make what you did better.”

“I’m evil, I’m not supposed to be better. And I sure as hell haven’t done anything out of an attempt to be anything else.”

“But you helped me. According to you, anyway. You’re saying you were playing for my side the whole time.”

“Wasn’t playing for your side,” he snarled. ““Just didn’t want Adam to win and destroy the world and kill me. Thought we’d been over that.”

Buffy’s house came into view, and she was silent until she reached her driveway. She blinked up at it, and then looked sideways at him. “I don’t think I can trust you,” she said. “I don’t know how many more times I can see you and not stake you.”

He looked at her, wanted to strike her, but since he knew he couldn’t he reached out and brushed the side of her hair instead. He’d done it before, more than once, and she always let him, even if he did it as sensuously as possible and usually had the voice to match.

But this time he just looked at her, and said earnestly, “You can’t trust me. But I…I trust you.”

“To do what?” she breathed.

He shrugged. “Dunno. Just do. You’re safe.”

She scowled. “Great. I’m the Slayer that vampires feel safe around. That’ll look great on my headstone.”

“That’s why, though,” he said. “Because vampires don’t feel safe around you. I meant it when I said demons would have sensed you doing that spell, and likely had heart attacks out of pure terror of you.”

“So why do you?” she asked.

“Have heart attacks?”

“Feel safe around me.”

Spike stared at her, and wondered if he’d actually said that to her. But he knew he’d meant it. He felt safe with the Slayer, he just did, and he hated it and almost wished he wouldn’t, but when he wasn’t sure how he’d get out from under Adam’s thumb, she’d been the light at the end of the tunnel. He’d only had to hold on until she got her hands on that creature, and now…he was free.

The front door suddenly opened, and Joyce gasped. “Buffy?” She asked. “Giles told me you were coming…” she ran down the driveway and gathered her daughter up in her arms. “Are you all right? What happened to you?” She gasped, seeing the bandage, and hugged her again. “Oh, sweetie, I know you have to go out and do these things, but I just hate that you have to—”

Spike slipped away before either one acknowledged him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike isn't a minion, and he's too smart to let himself be one. This chapter is my justification for his whole Adam teamup, and I stand by it.


	6. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike sees Buffy after dreaming about being in love with her. Set during "No Place Like Home."

Spike was lying on his back, knees up and hands behind his head, watching the stars from an outdoor sarcophagus, one that had an open book at its head. He stiffened when he heard her coming, but chose not to move. He heard her crunch through the grass, until she was standing over him.

He tilted his head to look at her. Buffy was wearing a black tank top, and nothing over it. Unusual for her, as she always liked doing her slaying in one coat or another.

But Spike wasn’t complaining. He turned his eyes back to the stars, and said, “Probably feel like you have to do me in now, don’t you? Sets a bad example to everyone watching if you let a vamp go.”

She had a stake in her hand, and she was twirling it. She nodded. “Yeah. Probably does.”

He snorted, unconcerned. “Well, get on with it, then. I’m sure you’re very busy. Wouldn’t want you to waste too much time of your precious time on me.”

She twirled the stake some more, and he turned his eyes towards her again. She slowly stepped forward, leaned over him, and poised her stake.

He frowned at her, though still unconcerned. And she stared at him, hesitating, breathing quickly, like she was trying to work herself up. Like she was trying to get him to fight back, and he was just refusing to cooperate.

She gave just the tiniest pout in frustration, and it did things to Spike’s insides. He immediately swung his legs around, and snatched her raised hand with one of his, using his other to grab the back of her head, and pulled her mouth towards him. He heard her make a tiny cry of surprise, and then he heard the clatter of the stake falling. She grasped his shirt in both fists, and pressed her lips harder into his. He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding firmly to make sure she couldn’t move. But she wasn’t going anywhere, and he parted his lips to let her in, let her devour him. She finally pulled back for breath, and he slid off the coffin and onto his feet. He slipped his hands around her waist, fiercely pressing kisses to her cheek, then her jaw, then her ear. She whimpered when he started sucking on her earring, and whispered, “Spike!”

“Buffy, I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Spike started awake in his bed. Again. He sat up, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It had happened, _again_. He’d thought the first dream had been a fluke. After getting up and pacing for a time, he’d finally talked himself into accepting the fact that it was his bloody subconscious, and it conjured up all kinds of strange images. It was just smoke and mirrors, it didn’t actually mean he’d gone and fallen in love with Buf—with the Slayer.

But now it had happened again, and in almost the same way.

This wasn’t just a fluke. This was her…getting into his head, somehow. She was always hovering over his shoulder, always getting in his way, always buggering up his carefully laid plans, even if those plans were just to spend a quiet afternoon in. No, she could never even let him have that.

He slid out of his bed and began pacing again, hoping it would work as well as it had the last time. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her. She was everything he hated, everything that he was supposed to be against. And she was always tossing him around, always using him, always driving him batty when he was around her…forget the chip, the way she’d gotten him to behave around her lately was absolutely disgraceful. He was always helping her or her little pals out, it seemed like. He kept telling them to stop crawling back to him, and they always did so anyway…and he allowed it. He never struck back when she abused him, and even though Harmony had offered to execute a plan to kill her if he’d come up with it, somehow he…hadn’t gotten around to that yet.

Because the worst thing, about all of this, was the sickening fear that he didn’t truly hate her quite as much as he thought he did.

He sighed, and made his way over to the bed again, sitting on the side of it and staring at the ceiling. “What has she done to me?” he moaned. “What has she _done?_ ”

He couldn’t go back to sleep. Not now, when she might be waiting on the other side, to torment him again. There was only one thing for it, then. He threw his clothes on, grabbed his coat, and headed out of his crypt. The sun had just set, and Harmony hadn’t woken up. This was the perfect time to go and see her. See if this thing was real, or…or not.

He hadn’t seen her since that whole incident with the doctor. He certainly hadn’t seen her since the dreams. Maybe he was just romanticizing her in his brain, for whatever reason. He was certain that he just needed to see her, even just a glimpse. He was certain that would throw cold water over his fantasies, and he’d remember that she was prey, she was the enemy, she was a mighty warrior that he would derive pleasure from taking down, someday.

He ended up having to wait a long time for her. He could sense her up in her bedroom, and he could smell her burning something magical up there. She might be up there for a while…might even skip patrolling, if she thought whatever she was doing was more important. But, Spike could wait. He leaned against the tree in her front yard and smoked nearly an entire packet of cigarettes, and he was content to do that and just stare up at her window. But finally she did walk out, and he had his glimpse.

And he couldn’t move. This was worse than the dreams. So much worse. Because she was real, here. Wasn’t a figment, wasn’t a flashing image in his head, no, she was the real thing. Alive, and warm, and beautiful…

He realized too late that she’d stopped, and sensed him. She reached behind the tree, and yanked him out. “Spike,” she said, her voice dripping with disgust.

He had no idea where to look, and tried looking in every single direction—sometimes twice—before daring to meet her gaze. “Hi Buffy,” he murmured, but her eyes were too much, and he glanced back at the ground.

She sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

She delivered a swift punch to his face, and he reeled backwards. But he was grateful, because he’d definitely needed that. Now they were on an even playing field. Now he could remember why he hated her, and he could stop being such a bumbling idiot in front of her, and bloody hell had she always been this adorable?

No, he could do this. He could walk away, right now. Here he was, shutting his gob, and leaving.

So why was he still talking to her? What was he even saying? Somehow words were just tumbling out of his mouth, and his head was swimming in a way it never had when he was near her, and he suddenly became aware that she was going to get suspicious if he kept on like this. Best to wrap this up cleanly and professionally.

“And…and I never really liked you anyway, and…and…you have stupid hair.” He shut his mouth, finally, and paused a moment to see if it would stay shut. It did, and he’d even managed to end on an insult. He gave a self-satisfied nod, and impressed himself even further by actually turning on his heel and stalking away from her.

He missed her as soon as he did. He instantly felt her absence, instantly felt lost without that damned tree pushing into his back, without the cozy lights of her house shining out to him. He was watching the ground, but he suddenly sensed someone coming towards him, and whipped his head up, narrowly jumping out of the way to avoid bumping into a girl.

But he backed up into somebody’s lawn, tripping over a stone, and he fell the ground. “Ow,” he muttered. “Bloody hell, you daft bint, can’t you watch where you’re…” he glanced up and saw who it was.

It was…one of the witches. Not Willow, it was the other one. Her name…what was her name? It didn’t really matter, but Spike knew he knew. It would come to him.

She gasped, and pattered nervously over to him. “S-spike, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Bloody well better be,” Spike grumbled, getting back up. “I should have just let you crash into me, but the chip probably would have fired, and you can’t explain to a piece of technology if a human was hurting itself through you.”

She just stood, there, clutching one arm, staring stiffly at him.

He glanced at a small shopping back dangling from her loose hand. “That for Buffy?” he asked, eagerly. Too eagerly. It didn’t matter if it was. Buffy had left the house, there was nothing for him to try and go back to.

The girl looked down at the bag in her hands like she hadn’t known it was there. “Oh,” she said. “Yeah. Well, it’s for her mom It…it’s just a cologne, not even a magic one, but when I have headaches it always makes me feel better. I thought Buffy’s mom might…I mean, maybe she’d think it’s weird for me to want to help, but…”

Tara. That was the girl’s name. He knew he’d remember it.

There was something else he remembered, too. He raised an eyebrow at her, and said, “Didn’t know you were on such good terms with the Slayer’s family. Never seen you about without Red bouncing along beside you.”

She blushed and looked away, and he knew he’d struck a nerve. She didn’t think of the Scoobies as her friends, not yet. It must have been difficult to decide to go to Buffy’s house on her own.

Well look at that, he had something in common with this nervous rabbit. It made him feel more kindly towards her, and he scowled. Bloody Slayer. Being in love with her was warping his entire brain.

“Actually, I…I asked Willow if she’d bring it over,” Tara admitted. “But it’s opening day at the magic shop, and she’s helping Mr. Giles, and couldn’t come until tomorrow. So I thought I’d…”

“I can take it,” Spike said immediately, holding his hand out.

She looked relieved, but then suspicious, and held the bag close to her chest. “Um, that’s okay, I r-really think it’d be better if I…”

“You can trust me, Demosthenes,” Spike said. “The house is right there. You can watch me, even, if it’ll make you feel better.”

He didn’t know if it more from terror of him or terror of walking up to that house that did it, but she reluctantly handed over the bag.

He marched back towards the house, but hesitated before he climbed up the porch steps. What was he planning on doing, exactly? Buffy was gone, and she wouldn’t appreciate it if he just sauntered through her front door, terrorizing whoever else might have been home at the time. He jumped up the stairs, rapped on the door, then dropped the bag and strolled back over to Tara.

She was watching him, almost in amusement. “You just left it on the porch?”

He glared at her. “Think you could do better?”

“Oh, no,” she said, quickly. “I mean, I probably would have actually delivered it into someone’s hand, but…” she bit her lip, and gave him a lopsided grin. “Thanks, Spike.”

She turned and walked away, and he found a tree in one of the nearby yards that was similar to Buffy’s tree. He leaned on it and groaned, looking back at her house.

Everything was upside down. Tara was barely even connected to Buffy, and he’d done her a favor just so he could spend an extra five seconds lingering around that house. Buffy’s house. Buffy’s house for only part of the year, when she wasn’t at university. It shouldn’t have had such a strong pull on him. 

So, that was it then. He’d fallen in love with a Slayer. He was in love with Buffy, the real Buffy, not just fantasy Buffy. He leaned his head back against the tree and squeezed his eyes shut, giving as long and miserable and resigned a sigh as he could muster.

This couldn’t possibly lead anywhere good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have done with another several episodes of babbling, puppy love Spike. That scene was freaking adorable. Fitting that Buffy called him William there, too, since that's totally who he was acting like.


	7. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike comforts Buffy on her back porch. Set after "Fool For Love."

Buffy was crying.

Spike had never seen her cry. He’d smelled it on her before, and he knew plenty of times that she must have cried during, but he’d never seen tears on the cheeks of his Slayer before. But in spite of that, some part of him had always imagined that she was too tough for tears, and nothing would be able to break her. 

But her crying changed nothing. Wasn’t like her tears could stop a bullet, could they? He lifted his gun, readying it, and she looked up at him. He wavered, but planted his feet. If she thought she could manipulate him…

“What do you want now?” she asked, annoyance drifting into her tone.

And her voice was so broken, and she just sounded so tired, and the words just flew from his tongue before he could have even a second to ponder them. “What’s wrong?” he asked, swallowing.

She looked too beat to even bother denying anything. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” was all she said.

This was wrong, this was so wrong. She needed to be yelling at him, saying it was none of his business, attacking him for daring to bring a gun onto her property. He needed to fix this. He needed…he just needed to make it right.

“Is there something I can do?”

A look passed over her face, one that seemed startled at first, and then confused and almost horrified. But Spike barely noticed, because he wasn’t even sure how he expected her to answer that question. What could he even do? Jack squat, more than likely. He didn’t know what was wrong, but, given their history, there was precious little he probably could have done.

But he had to help her. Somehow. Even if all he could do was…was…

He walked forward, lowering himself onto the porch step next to her, carefully setting his gun beside him. He lifted his hand, and gently, awkwardly, tenderly, patted her back. Just for a moment, but he tried to pour every scrap of love he had for her into the gesture. She stiffened, and didn’t look at him, but she let him do it.

But that was as far as Spike was willing to push, and he took his hand away…and just sat there.

There was nowhere else he’d rather be, and that thought made him feel calmer and more at peace with everything than he had in a while. Of course, this was still wrong. Why couldn’t he have just shot her? They couldn’t both stay in the world, and if she wouldn’t kill him, he’d just have to kill her. She had it coming, anyway. Who did she think she was, telling him he was beneath her? Who did she think _he_ was?

Well, he was a sodding fool for love in this very moment, wasn’t he? And he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it. No wonder the chit thought he was beneath her. All one had to do was look at him, and the giant sappy mess he’d melted into for her. He made a mental note to hate her for that later, and hate her just in general, probably.

But none of that mattered right now. Now he could only love her, could only sit as close to her as she would allow.

He didn’t say anything, and didn’t try to touch her again. But her tears stopped flowing, and she finally drew in a deep, resigned breath. “My mom’s staying overnight at the hospital,” Buffy she said, in a whisper that he almost missed, so lost as he was in his own thoughts.

He turned, barely. “Why?” he murmured.

“She’s getting a CT scan,” Buffy breathed. “They think…well, I don’t know what they think. She…fainted a couple weeks ago, and she’s been kind of off and on headachey ever since, but all this time they’ve been telling her it’s nothing, and…and now…”

Spike watched her, and then gave a shrug. “Pet, that doesn’t…I wouldn’t give way to the melodrama just yet. That could mean anything. It could mean nothing.”

Buffy gave a sharp laugh, and nodded. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s not nothing, Spike.”

“How do you know?”

She sucked her lips in, then smacked them back out. “I just know,” she said softly. “Besides, she wouldn’t be the first in her family to get…”

Cancer. She didn’t have to say it, and she didn’t. Instead, her face crumpled, and then she was sobbing again; not tender, trying-to-hide-it tears, but full on shaking and weeping. He felt such a pull in his chest, and he thought he would scream if he couldn’t kiss those tears away. But he couldn’t, so he resorted back to what he knew she’d allow. He put his hand on her shoulder again. “Buffy…” he murmured, sympathetically.

And with no warning whatsoever, she let herself fall against him. She buried her face in her hands, but she leaned against his shoulder, and he was startled, but retained enough presence of mind to wrap his arm around her. He thrilled at her closeness, but he also felt a dull ache run through him. She was hurting. She was grieving, and something had broken her. Something had dared to touch her, and there was nothing he could do to control that.

“Buffy…” he whispered again. He swallowed, his mind and body working overtime to be sure he didn’t give into temptation. He wanted so badly to nuzzle her hair, to kiss the top of her head, to wrap both arms tightly around her and rock her until the pain stopped. But he didn’t allow anything more than just rubbing her shoulder, slowly, and softly, more grazing it than actually squeezing.

“I’m…” Buffy said, and sniffed, pausing to steady her voice. “I can’t…can’t cry…have to be strong, have to talk to the doctors, have to take care of Dawn…”

“You will. It’s all right, Love, you’ll be all right...” He was saying whatever words of comfort seemed appropriate, but he was distracted. What did she mean she couldn’t cry? Was that why he’d never seen it? She didn’t think she was allowed? Or was it that she thought if she fell, she wouldn’t be able to get back up?

He suddenly held her close, temptation be damned, wondering if anyone she’d been around had ever bothered to pick her back up. Or if she always had to do it on her own. He suddenly hated every single person who had never been there for her, and squeezed his eyes shut as he held back a sob of his own. He didn’t know why she was letting him comfort her, but he let his grip on her tighten, and he brushed the top of her head with his chin. Just to let her know he was there.

Her tears eventually quieted down, again, and she lingered for only a second before seemed to realize that she was clinging to a creature she loathed. She sat up, looking away from him, and he reluctantly drew his arm back.

She seemed ashamed to look at him, now, but she still didn’t force him to leave. She just looked down at her fingers, and began twisting the ring she wore on one of them.

Both of them started when they heard the back door open. “Buffy,” her mother said calmly, and Spike shoved the gun off the porch and into a bush, as subtly as he could manage. Buffy and Spike turned back to look at her, and she looked mildly surprised to see him. “Oh…I’m sorry, Spike. Hello.”

He nodded. “Joyce.”

Joyce turned back to Buffy, and gave a smile that was trying to hard to be brave. “I’m ready to leave, whenever you are.”

Buffy nodded, and took a breath. “I’m ready.”

Joyce shut the door, and Buffy looked back out into the darkness. He watched her straighten her shoulders, lift her chin, and put on that steely warrior face that he both admired and feared.

He was so damn proud of her.

But she didn’t move, and Spike realized that was his cue. She didn’t need to pick herself up, not while he was about. He stood up, and moved to stand in front of her. She looked up at him, and he held his hands out.

She looked at them, swallowed, and then slipped her hands in them. He pulled her up, steadying her when she clutched the wound at her stomach. “You all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He waited until she looked him in the eye, and peered at her, but nodded. He glanced behind her, back through the screen door, to see Joyce moving around the kitchen, and a girl next to her, rubbing her eyes like she’d just woken up.

Buffy’s kid sister. Spike had never seen much of her, since she’d apparently never been allowed near the Scooby action, and every time he’d come over, it had been after dark and she’d been in bed.

Dawn caught his glance, widened her eyes, and said, “Mom, Spike’s on the back porch.”

“I know,” Joyce said. “Don’t forget your jacket, honey.”

Spike looked back to Buffy, who was beginning to climb up the steps. “Slayer,” he said gently.

She turned and looked back.

“Your mum is going to be fine.”

Buffy drew a shaky breath. “But what if she…”

“She’s tough,” Spike said. “Don’t think for a moment that you got all your moxy and stubbornness just from being the Slayer. It came from her, too.”

Buffy looked at him in confusion, like it was suddenly dawning on her that Spike had actually been comforting her for the past half hour. “I know you came to kill me,” she said suddenly.

Spike opened his mouth, and then glanced away. “Puzzled that out, did you?”

“You pointing a gun at me kinda tipped me off.” Her lips slightly poked upwards, like they were trying to smirk. “Otherwise I would have thought it was just your normal creeperness. Your stalking is getting out of hand, you know that? It’s like you’re there every time I turn around.”

He frowned. “ _I’m_ there? You’re the one who always—”

“I know it’s a vampire thing,” she said quickly. “Especially for you, and with Slayers. I mean, even when we were worshipping Jonathan like a god, you were still only looking at me. Wanted to take me on.”

Spike’s mouth went completely dry. That had been…months ago. He hadn’t even registered afterwards that, while under a spell that had dictated he wouldn’t, he’d still singled Buffy out.

“But I’m glad you didn’t,” Buffy said. “Try to kill me just now.” She paused. “Because I would have had to kill you first. So I…” she gave a low laugh. “I appreciate you…not making me have to do that.”

She left him staring after her. She baffled him, she baffled him _so_ much. That was her reaction to him trying to kill her? Thank you for not making me have to kill you first? Why hadn’t she just done so? Why had she let him get close to her?

When she was gone, he fished his gun out of the bushes and looked at in with distaste. Never again. He would hate her a lot of the time, he would torment her and her friends, and he still looked forward to the day they could have a proper fight.

But he…he was too close to her now. He couldn’t bear the thought of a world that she didn’t exist in, or a single day going by that he couldn’t see her. He’d made his last attempt on her life. And she wouldn’t die by anyone else’s hand, either, not while he was around to have a say in it.

“So that’s it, then,” he said to himself. “I surrender.” He closed his eyes. “You won, Slayer. You’ve defeated me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't write this story because I knew it'd be so much harder than Buffy's side; when only Spike is the one falling and they really are at each other's throats all the time. But this ship is too important to me to have not written both sides, and the urge to do it was too strong to resist!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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